The Farm Poem by cheryl davis miller

While driving a backroad the other day
came across an old farm in sad decay.
I pulled off to the side to view the sight.
Wonder how this farm fell into this plight.

Searching I pictured sights; from long ago.
The farmhouse was blanketed by the snow.
Smoke curled from the chimney by night and day.
Kids ignored the cold while busy at play.

Looked once again and saw Spring drawing nigh.
As play was replaced by chores by and by.
All hands were required to work the farm.
With each generation; farmlife lost charm.

With summer came work from daylight to dark
and seldom a chance for a play-day lark.
A dip in the creek; seemed a rare treasure.
Life on a farm left small time for pleasure.

With Fall's arrival came new work to do.
There's meat and tators; to mention a few.
Cords of dry wood to stack neatly in rows.
Then stock the larder and fill the silos.

Winter comes to offer a brief repose.
Dad works on the books and Mama she sews.
Kids all enjoy; what seems a holiday.
Climbing the hill to ride down on a sleigh.

Each passing year the desire has waned.
'Jobs are in town, ' all the children explained.
Venturing off they all leave one by one,
parents pass on and the farm; it is done.

Farm life's been replaced by sad memories,
I thought as I sat there beneath the trees.
A life style forgotten and left behind.
One trip pass that farm brought this all to mind.

c.d.m.2010